Farewells are not forever
by MisplacedHyperQuill
Summary: What happened directly after the fall? My take on it. Summary sucks- hopefully the story is better. Sherlolly and brotherly love! Read and Review! Rated M for one scene for Chapter 3. Please don't read that chapter if you are uncomfortable.
1. Chapter 1

**Dedicated to Grace, who gave me the idea to write a one shot. My take on the aftermath of the fall. Sherlolly.**

Molly had never been sick, or disgusted, by the sight of blood. She'd gone through life, with her female mates fainting at the mere word, but she sailed right by, she even found a passion in it. So one could question why the young, successful pathologist was about to vomit at the sight of the tall, pale and scarlet, thin body.

The blood wasn't even real.

The woman had never thought she would ever see the day where she would have to perform a post mortem autopsy on none other than Sherlock Holmes. Well, technically, it would be different body; the lonesome, young agent of the British Government whose death, conveniently similar to the staged one of Sherlock's, would never be missed. She stifled a movie heroine gasp as the detective's blue-grey irises flew into view. The effects of the heart rate depleting drug he had taken was wearing off.

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He was trying to sit up, Molly realised, in a daze. She couldn't believe this was happening. The weight of what she did, what she was doing, what she had to do; it was all crashing down as she sorted through her memories, trying to make sense of it all.

_She had passed the miniscule syringe, in a flurry of hands. Without a word, he was gone._

_He was up there on the building, the phone in his hand. She was informed earlier of this, it was the cue for everything to be ready. The phone went up to his ear- she could ALMOST see his mouth moving as he said his 'last' words to his best friend. Molly wanted to turn around, look for John and tell him it would be alright- but she refused to jeopardise this plan. For him._

_The fall took a matter of three seconds, max. She missed the whole show- it was not an accident; Molly refused to see the man she loved, die. The backup syringe was clutched with white knuckles in her jeans._

_John was hit by the bicyclist- another agent, she guessed._

_She ran over, to find the syringe wedged in his arm. Even as he fell he had enough wits to inject himself. Amazing. The blonde man was up and running frantically towards the motionless body, desperation and shock displayed for the public in his eyes, face and gait. She ran._

"Molly, water." came a hoarse voice. Shaken out of her thoughts, Molly rushed to the sink, grappling for a cup and hastily filling the cup with water, her hands shaking violently. She was greeted with the sight of the detective clutching his ribs and wincing horribly as he tried to sit up.

"No, no, no." Molly repeated the word in a mantra as she almost dropped the cup on the closest counter top and almost flew to his side.

"Don't Sherlock, you-" Molly was instantly interrupted by the hoarse, scratchy voice of the detective.

"I'm fine Molly, you don't have to baby me." he replied trying to sound his usual, snide self, but the tone he was speaking in sounded more like a plea for assistance.

"Please- let me _help _you" she asked, softly. She didn't realise her hands had made her way to his chest; her small palms pressed against his dress shirt, her right one over his heart; until his own large ones enveloped them, causing her to jump.

"I'm sorry, I-" she began, but was once again interrupted, but his voice had lost it's hoarseness, the famous baritone slowly lacing it's way back home.

"Your hands are quivering. Signs of the last excursions of adrenaline. Understandable. But why, Molly, are you scared?" Sherlock asked, staring at her. The force from his light eyes, forced her dark ones upwards to meet them.

"How did you-? Never mind. Of course I'm scared Sherlock. I-" for the third time that night, Molly was interrupted but not by the detective for once. Instead, it was the British Government himself. The two immediately broke apart, _not that they were doing anything wrong, or inappropriate _Molly thought as the blush slowly made it's way up.

"Ms. Hooper, once again, thank you for your help with this...predicament." Mycroft nodded, stepping away and leaning his tall, bony frame against his trademark black umbrella, as a young man wheeled in a body. 'Sherlock's' body."

The body was placed on an empty table, before the young man was ushered out by Mycroft, who then walked over to the couple.

"I probably should leave if I was interrupting, but even if I was, I wouldn't. Ms. Hooper- if you don't mind, I would like to talk to my brother." Sherlock let out a grunt as Molly nodded and took a large step away from the man, before grabbing a pair of gloves and walking over to the table.

She started the Y insertions on the body, even though the C.O.D was already scripted out for her to say to Greg, Donavan (the bitch) and god forbid- John Watson. From her peripheral vision, she made out Mycroft, who had taken a seat on the table next to Sherlock, speaking quietly to him. It was the slightest bit odd to see the man known as _the _British Government swinging his legs over the countertop, but it was a private conversation between two brothers who would most likely never see one another again.

Feeling intrusive, Molly concentrated her eyes back on her work, but after a moment, she couldn't resist temptation. She looked up, seeing the two fully grown men chuckling inaudibly, possibly about a childhood memory. Her eyes trained away from the intimate moment guiltily. Ten minutes later, Molly heard shuffling. Turning her head up, thinking they were done talking, Molly was greeted with a sight she knew she would never see again from either man.

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Mycroft embraced his baby brother with every ounce of strength he had left within him; he was happy, relieved almost when the latter did the same. They would always be brothers, no matter what the problem was. He would always love him (even though he'd deny it to anyone else) and Mycroft knew, somewhere deep in Sherlock's brain, he loved him too. Pulling back and staring at the face he had seen growing up from birth brought a wave of tears over. The suddenness of it allowed the man no time to resist, and soon, twin rivers made its way down the older man's face.

The most surprising thing was that Sherlock did the same.

Leaning in, the older brother placed a single, farewell kiss on his brother's forehead, mimicking something he hadn't done since they were mere children. Usually Sherlock would be disgusted by the sentiment, but if he was, he didn't show it.

"Goodbye, baby brother, good luck, and see you soon." Mycroft whispered, refusing to say his name- it would feel too much like they were saying goodbye forever. They would never be best friends, but they would always be brothers.

Mycroft helped his brother off the table and onto a comfortable standing position. He stared on more time at his face, Sherlock's pair mimicking his own, both trying to remember each other's faces, just in case.

"I love you." Mycroft muttered, squeezing his brother's arm, before turning and facing the Doctor.

"Thank you- for everything you have done for Sherlock." he said, before sweeping out of the room, without waiting an answer.

Once outside, Mycroft texted Anthea to bring the car out front, as he leant against a cement wall, the dam in his tear ducts breaking, the tears flowing out.

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Molly watched the brother leave in surprise. She hadn't expected a thank you. Turning her head to Sherlock, she caught him staring past her, at the wall next to her, tears streaming quietly in a slow stream. She walked over and stood in front of him.

He carried on staring ahead. Doing nothing, other than breathing and allowing the tears to flow. Quietly, Molly grabbed a cloth and dampened it, before forcing Sherlock to sit on a stool (something she could never do under normal circumstances) and cleaning away the fake blood from his soft, springy curls and forehead.

Her hand was suddenly blanketed in the warmth of Sherlock's, and Molly did nothing but look down into his eyes. The beautiful orbs were now glowing a bright blue, and she could make out tiny flecks of grey, green and even brown. She was so mesmerised, that she hadn't realised herself getting closer and closer.

They were mere centimeters apart when she realised what was happening. The streams on the man's face were growing stronger, but surprisingly, none came for her. She was all out of tears. She leant her face in the crook where Sherlock's long neck met his lean shoulders and buried herself there, inhaling the musky smell. Her small arms rapped under his own, around his chest and meeting at the back, feeling the bones of his bruised ribs and the toned muscles surrounding them.

Molly felt arms wrap around her with a sudden force, the large hands forcing her into him, crashing her flush into his. She felt his face lying on her hair, the tears wetting the dark, chocolate waves. They both looked up at the same time; Molly took in his features up close, the eyes, high cheekbones, pale skin, the full pink lips. And that's when those lips crashed with a sudden force against her own.

He had a hard body; all muscles and bone, but his lips were amazingly soft, but slightly chapped. They melded together, almost as if they were made for that exact purpose. Her hands wound up his back, reaching to the back of his head, and pushing down hard, so that they were even closer. Sherlock's soft tongue ran against her lower lip, surprising the doctor enough for her to grant him access. Wasting no time, the 'dead' man explored the warm cavern, grazing over the back of her teeth and the roof of her mouth. Regaining composure, Molly pushed back, catching him by surprise as her tongue slid past the lip barriers.

His mouth was warm, and tasted like the coffee he was so obsessed with. She memorised every detail, feeling and texture of his mouth; she knew she would never get enough from this man. By no means was this a chaste or soft kiss. Like Sherlock, this was hard and so very, very, hot.

Sherlock's palms wove themselves into her hair, the pale digits entwining into the soft strands. The kiss slowly became gentler, more romantic. Molly guided her hands down to the base of the detective's neck, playing with the baby hair and the nape, before bringing them down to the front of his chest. Sherlock had had his hands over the curve of where her waist ended and where the hips began. Finally out of air, Molly reluctantly nudged the amazing kisser in front of her, and pulled away.

He immediately leant down and rested his forehead against her own; both fought hard to regain their breaths. After a few silent moments Molly spoke.

"Please, for John, Mycroft, everyone who counts on you, be _safe_," she begged, bringing him into another hug.

"I will." he muttered as he pulled away. He looked at her with the usual questioning look he always had before in the lab, when he deducted something, when times were good.

"Do you believe you count on me?" Molly spluttered, not sure how to respond.

"I, uh, I-I guess, I mean, um-" she was silenced, again (But in the best way possible) as Sherlock leant in and placed another closed mouth, chaste kiss on her swollen, red lips.

"Of course you do. More than either of us will ever know" he replied, adding the second sentence almost as an afterthought. Molly laughed.

"Never thought I'd see the day I'd kiss Sherlock Holmes" she said, in reply to the confused frown etched on his perfect features. Her face softened, and turned solemn.

"Goodbye Sherlock" she said.

"Goodbye Molly." the man replied, snaking his arm around her for a last hug, and pecking her lips one last time before sweeping out the room not unlike his brother had, apparently just mere minutes ago.

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Molly sat at her desk in her office, as head of department; Mike Stamford had finally retired to a happy, relaxing end to his life in good old Hawaii, where his daughter had a house. Three years it had been, she realised, as she waved at John and Mary (a fellow pathologist) leaving the morgue. He'd finally move forward since the 'death' and Mary was a good woman. Sherlock still was and would always be a part of their hearts of course.

She smiled fondly at the last memory she shared with him. She refused to dwell on the negative but was always certain he was out there, somewhere being the great detective he was, bringing justice and probably annoying the crap out of some poor person.

A jingle bleeped in her pocket, signalling a text. Unlocking her smart phone, she stared at the little speech bubble from the blocked number.

**Home, finally. Papers will tell you by tomorrow. Moran dead. Explain soon as I get to your flat. Spare room please? Takes time to resurrect yourself from the dead. Don't text back- tell Mycroft**

**SH**

Molly smiled softly to herself, ringing the mobile number belonging to Mycroft Holmes. She had good news, very good news indeed.

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**Review? The text box is alone and empty. It wants to be loved.**


	2. Meeting Again

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I've decided to do a follow up chapter, based on a plot given to me by Empress of Verace (thanks for the idea!)**

**Enjoy: E**

Molly Hooper sat on the wide green couch in the middle of the living room in her two bedroom apartment. She had on a long silk night robe that flowed around her short, voluptuous frame. Underneath the not so innocent robe was an a lot more innocent, oversized t-shirt and a pair of mid-thigh shorts. With a glass of wine in her small hand, she switched to a sprawled position and grabbed the remote, randomly surfing through channels.

In the far corner, a clock sounded, signaling the start of yet another hour of her waiting up for a certain dead detective who was ready to resurrect. _One thing he has to learn is punctuality. Seven 'o'clock my arse. _she thought as she rechecked the owl shaped clock a friend had given her. Eleven. An hour to midnight.

Molly forced herself of the sofa and rechecked that the guest room and bathroom would satisfy the detective's needs. She sighed. Maybe he wasn't coming. For all she knew he could have talked to John already and made up. She almost squealed in delight when she heard the doorbell ring.

The pathologist forced herself to take calming breaths as she checked the peephole. It was him. Dear Lord, he was here, he was back. She opened the door, only to be greeted by the sight of the world's only consulting detective, covered in cuts and bruises, blood oozing out of a wound on his head.

Stifling a gasp, Molly all but dragged the hurt man and forced him onto the sofa. She hurried to the kitchen for a first aid kit and a glass of water.

"Drink this, now." She demanded, shoving the glass into a large hand. With quivering hands she began quick work on cleaning his numerous wounds.

"Molly I am fi-"

"No you are not. Let me clean your wounds." she said, firmly, but her voice was wavering. Steadily, tears began streaming down her face uncontrollably, from pent up emotions. She plastered a cotton square on the dripping wound on Sherlock's pale forehead. She managed to plaster it down with surgical tape, when a large hand enveloped her smaller one. She looked upwards and met Sherlock's deep set, currently sky blue eyes, literally swirling with...something. Some kind of emotion she couldn't fathom.

Her right hand still sat rested in his left and his right slowly cupped her face, the coarse thumb wiping the tears away.

"Why are you crying Molly?" he whispered softly. That broke every last, crumbling wall the woman had. She pulled the man to her as she leant up. She pulled her hands out of his grip and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her hands in the soft hair she hadn't felt for three years. She sobbed into his shoulder, dampening the white, bloody dress shirt.

"Don't-don't do this again. Please." she choked out, in between hiccups and sobs.

"Do what Molly?" Sherlock almost broke himself, not knowing why. He didn't want to see Molly this broken. He never wanted to see her cry again.

"Don't leave me, us, again. Please. No matter what. Stay." she managed again.

"Shush. I promise. Shush." he didn't really understand what he was doing or saying, especially when he pulled her upwards onto his lap, allowing her to put her legs on either side of him, straddling him. Rubbing his hands up and down her back seemed to calm her down somewhat; her body heaving sobs were gradually reduced to small hiccups.

After a while Molly pulled her head up from its comfortable spot on the spot where the long neck met the start of the shoulder. Her bloodshot brown eyes stared into the man's sapphire jewels.

Sherlock saw, literally watched her pupils dilate further, giving the illusion that her eyes were black. Endless. He was caught by surprise when her lips crashed down onto his.

She barely even knew what she was doing, but she felt great. Her hands wove themselves in the black locks, pulling roughly, eliciting a low growl from the man below her. That seemed to awaken him because he kissed back with a force she didn't deem possible. His hands worked up and down her curves, until the reached the hem of her long shirt.

His tongue licked the soft lips he was kissing, and when there was no response, he bit. The pleasured gasp he received when straight down south. He pushed his tongue back into the familiar territory that was Molly Hooper's mouth as he pushed his hands upwards, groaning as he met soft, bare skin.

The sounds coming out of Sherlock's mouth was almost too much for Molly. She broke away, panting hard, her body gasping for air. She stared at Sherlock, whose eyes were black with a small ring of blue circling them. His shirt was crumpled underneath him and the top button undone, showing the start of two, very toned pectorals.

"I believe this is a good time to go to bed." Sherlock muttered, barely containing a another groan as Molly began peppering small seductive kisses along his jawline and neck. He did groan as she bit his pulse point, hard.

"Maybe later." she muttered before recapturing her detective's lips, pushing him and forcing him to turn, so that he was lying down on the long couch, Molly on top of him.

Both adults finally received what they were both waiting for (even if they were too stubborn to admit)- each other.

**I decided to stop this right here while I can keep this as a T- rated story. If you want more, don't be afraid to comment or P.M me and I will write a separate fic for the next scene on this chapter.**

**Thank you editor Grace. :)**

**Review? The text box is all alone. Forever alone, unless you change that**

**-Ash :)**


	3. Promises

**This is my first attempt at an M rated story/ chapter. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable. The next chapter will just be the aftermath and will be a safe T. Promise ;)**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock he wouldn't be doing these things to Molly.**

**ENJOY:**

Molly pulled her tongue back out of Sherlock lips, immediately nipping the bottom half not so gently. Her right hand travelled downwards, until it reached the end of his bloody shirt. Almost carelessly, she drew lazy circles on the detective's protruding hipbone, tickling the hard, pale skin. Her left hand stayed in the mass of curls, pulling gently.

The groan sounding from her movements rang through her ears, the fact that she caused it spreading a warm heat in her centre. She immediately ran her hands up underneath his shirt, coming into contact with the hard planes of his toned, thin abdomen. This time, she moaned. Hard.

Another rush of heat flowed down Sherlock; he could feel the stirring down there. With a new force, he pushed himself upwards, his hand involuntarily cupping Molly's right breast through her shirt. Molly gasp at the new, cool contact.

"I think the bed is much more comfortable- don't you agree?" Sherlock asked. His new sitting position granted him access to the side of the young doctor's neck and head. Slowly, he licked the shell of her ear, before taking the lobe in his mouth and sucking softly.

"Too much time wasted, _Sherlock_." She moaned out, emphasising the man's name as his talented mouth travelled further down to the dip in her collarbone. He nipped on the flesh, hard; causing a small red mark to appear- it would be purple tomorrow. _Good- she was his._

Uncomfortable on the sofa, Sherlock took matters in his own hands. Grabbing her arse in his large palms, he hoisted both of them off the couch, to the direction of Molly's bedroom. His mouth once again closed over hers.

"How do you- never mind. I don't care." Molly mumbled through the kiss, smiling. She chuckled as Sherlock fumbled with the doorknob, before giving up and kicking it open.

The couple fumbled a bit in the dark; it seemed that the lack of light made the experience all the more animalistic, carnal. Molly tried undoing the buttons on his shirt, but immediately gave up, opting to rip the offending piece of cotton away. She groaned, the flush spreading to her neck, at the sight of his toned chest. Her hands flew to the toned pectorals, eager to begin exploring. Molly once again peppered a trail of kisses down his neck.

"Someone's eager." Sherlock smirked, literally throwing Molly onto the bed before yanking off his shoes and socks and crawling over towards his prey.

"I can say the same for you." Molly whispered, panting as Sherlock's face came in level with her's, their noses touching, mouths mere millimeters apart.

The pace of their activities slowed considerably at this point; from passion to... not quite making love, but almost there. Sherlock moved his hand slowly, toying with the hem of Molly's night shirt again, this time pulling it upwards, revealing a small bit of tanned flesh. His eyes wandered from his movements to the pair underneath him. This was an important step, and neither would proceed without the other's consent.

They stared at each other for a while; Sherlock waiting for permission and lost in the lust-filled eyes, while Molly stared up into his face, trying to memorise every detail. After an eternity, a small smile spread over her lips, her eyes twinkling in the glow of the dim streetlights through the curtains guarding the window, before moving upwards to capture Sherlock's lips once more.

The man in question took the kiss as a sign of approval, and as their tongues once again fought for dominance as their teeth tried to nip at one another, Sherlock ripped off Molly's shirt, throwing it in some far corner of the room.

Once again, Sherlock groaned, as the bare skins of both their torsos crashed into one another. Molly wasn't wearing a bra. He had never groaned this much in his life ever; whether during coitus or in pure pain. This woman was having such an effect on him, and truth to be told, he was glad about this.

Sherlock ran his hands up his lover's bare back, before bringing them to the front to begin his new exploration. He cupped one of the mounds in his hand, feeling the warm weight in his palms. How did he ever say these were small? They were definitely more than most he had been with.

Molly was high in ecstasy. Here she had Sherlock bloody Holmes, fondling her. No way was this man a virgin. NO way in hell. Her head dropped further into the pillow she was lying on as Sherlock kissed his way downwards into the valley of her breasts. Her left one was currently getting all the attention; Sherlock was massaging the mound while twisting the pebbled peak between his index finger and thumb. She was metaphorically unraveling before him. Her eyes drew shut as she let out a wanton moan when she felt his mouth take her other peak into his mouth. Her shorts-clad legs flew around Sherlock's lean waist as her hands rewove themselves in his hair.

His tongue was doing wonders to her. He alternated between nipping the nipple and rolling his tongue around it. Both actions were causing the warmth in her core to spread, everywhere. After a few minutes, Sherlock swapped ministrations, paying attention to her left breast with his mouth, her right in his palm. Suddenly, his head snapped upwards, causing Molly to open her eyes and huff at the loss of contact.

"What's wrong?" she asked, slightly afraid that he had changes his mind.

"Nothing," Sherlock muttered, licking his way up to her ear "You have to many clothes on." he whispered in her ear, smirking as Molly shuddered underneath him.

She felt him smirk, and huffed slightly.

"So do you, and you've been on top for too long." she whispered, before flipping them over and straddling him. His protest was overruled by a loud moan that escaped his mouth when Molly began peppering kisses down his abdomen. Was this mousy pathologist always like this in bed? If she was, he could get used to it. Very used to it.

Molly stopped her ministrations when she reached the waistband of his pants. His trousers had long ago ridden downwards. When? She wouldn't know. She kissed up the treasure trail he had (who knew he had one? The man was virtually hairless.) and stopped at his belly button. She licked around the small pit, and pushed her tongue inwards. She continued doing this, when a hand on her head pushed her up.

"Stop _teasing _Molly, just get to it." Sherlock moaned.

"What if I don't want to?" she smirked, crawling back up and placing a teasing peck on hi lips. She paused, mere inches away from his face. She could feel his hot breath on her lips.

"You don't want to know," he whispered, before leaning into he ear "Please Molly?"

Molly smiled softly, before moving downwards to her previous position. She slowly un did the button on his dress trousers and slid them of, tantilisingly. She licked her lips at the sight of the tent in his silk black boxers and experimentally ran her hand over the covered length, smirking when it twitched.

She kept eye contact with Sherlock as she beckoned him with her finger to come over to the edge of the bed. For once, he obeyed, hunger in his feral eyes.

"Sit on the edge of the bed and take of your pants." She demanded, her eyes daring him to disagree. Sherlock shrugged of his boxer's allowing his erected length to stand in all its glory.

There was a lot of glory.

Molly stared wide eyed at the length, smirking at him when she saw him do the same. She was going to wipe that smirk of his face.

Keeping eye contact, Molly moved her head forward and licked the shaft, from base to head with a soft, tickling swipe. Sherlock bucked at the contact, trying to get more friction, but Molly held him down.

"No moving, Mr. Holmes." She said, before enveloping the entire length into her mouth, tasting the salty precum that flowed out of the small slit. She focused her attention on that slit, loving the way he was moaning, his eyes virtually blacked a he stared at her. His hands wove into her hair, trying to push her down further but she resisted.

Molly kept her mouth on the leaking head, but added her right hand to pump up and down the shaft.

Sherlock was groaning, loudly. She almost expected the neighbours to knock on her door and tell her to be quiet, but she honestly could not give a flying fuck. Her head was pulled away from the cock, by Sherlock.

"Not yet. I believe I should repay know shouldn't I?" he asked. Molly pulled Sherlock into a sloppy kiss, forcing him to taste himself.

"Of course." She watched as his eyes glinted evily.

"Get on the bed. Sit where I was and lie down." Molly almost groaned at the authoritive baritone and complied. Once she was in position, she felt her shorts being yanked of, revealing black see through lace panties. Sherlock looked up at her, raising a delicate eyebrow at the choice of underwear and smirked.

He all but ripped the garment away but Molly couldn't find the voice to protest. He ran his hands up he calves and kissed the undersides of her knees, and trailed a blaze along her hipbone, and directly pass the area she wanted him most.

"Sherlock" she protested, the moan in her voice almost mad him dive down there. Almost.

"Patience Molly. Patience" he said. Before kissing down the small, coarse curls, until he made his way to the outer petals.

Sherlock spread Molly's legs wider and planted to kisses on either lip before licking a long path, up her warm centre. Molly cried out wantonly, arching of the bed at the contact. She looked beautiful, he thought.

He licked the opening of her hole causing another moan to escape her lips. He then pushed his tongue as far as it could go, tasting the sweet, unique taste; causing him to grow even harder than he already was.

Sherlock found the small bundle of nerves and set his attention there. He nipped it gently.

"Oh, yes Sherlock! Oh god!" Molly cried, bucking her hips into his face. He smirked.

"Just me Molly, not god."

"Oh shut up Sherlock. Keep going, don't- ahhh!" she cried out as Sherlock inserted a single of his long, slim digits into her hole, twisting the finger in and out in a slow teasing pace.

He kissed her stomach once, before moving upwards to peck Molly on the lips. The pathologist was writhing on the bed, desperate for more friction; panting from the pleasure of it all.

"Is something wrong?" he whispered in her ear, kissing her softly on the cheek.

"Yes, please- faster- more." She panted, staring into the hunger filled eyes. He complied, suddenly slipping two more fingers. He muffled her shouts with another soft kiss.

He pulled away, watching her pant, moan and writhe beneath him. She was an image of true beauty. She was nothing like the sad women on John's computer. He watched as her left hand massaged one of her breasts while the other continued downwards to the neglected clitoris.

"Keep touching yourself," he whispered hungrily as he yanked his three fingers out, licking each one of them softly. Molly almost cried out at the loss of contact, but watched curiously, never stopping her own ministrations on herself as Sherlock moved to a kneeling position, his erected cock standing against his toned stomach.

Molly almost came as she watched Sherlock ran a hand up and down his shaft, his other hand playing lightly with the two hanging sacs. She watched hi head loll backwards, revealing the porcelain expanse of his neck. All she wanted to do was kiss it , and she did.

Silently as possible, never stopping her hand on her clitoris, she moved upwards and kneeled in front of Sherlock. His head snapped upwards as he felt her lips attack his neck, leaving painfully good bruises everywhere and groaned when he saw her still pleasuring herself.

Still in control of the situation he asked

"What do you need?" He bit gently on the shell of her ear, waiting an answer. Molly stopped her ministrations altogether and muttered

"You."

Sherlock lay down the woman in front of him on to the bed, looking at her the whole time, as he positioned himself at her entrance. He asked her for silent permission, to which she nodded.

Leaning down and kissing her with a soft passion, he thrust in.

Both groaned into their kiss and waited; Sherlock to get his breathing normal- this would not end before it started' and Molly to get used to the long thick length in her. After a few moments, Sherlock began thrusting in and out with a slow pace.

They carried on like that for a few minutes, the pleasure almost intolerable, when Molly once again, flipped them over. Somehow, they had made it back to the top of the bed.

Molly braced herself against the headboard with her hands and began bouncing on Sherlock. The new angle took him in deeper and both groaned again at the new contact. Sherlock took one of Molly's bouncing breasts in to his mouth and sucked on it like it was an elixir of life.

Sherlock suddenly pushed her hips down, only allowing her to grind against him as he sat up, leaning his sweaty back against the headboard. Molly wrapped herself around his waist and once again began riding him, this time to be met in time with Sherlock's thrusts.

Molly felt the warmth intensifying for a whole new level.

"Never leave me again." She choked out in between pants and moans. Sherlock eyes opened slightly to watch her.

"Never again." Those two words triggered a few tears to fall down Molly's face, dripping on to Sherlock's cheek. He leant up and kissed away the trails.

"I promise" he said as Molly leant her head down on his shoulder, hastening her thrusts. Sherlock kept up with her intensifying face.

"Look at me" he whispered. "Look at me." he repeated until Molly lifted her head to stare into his eyes.

"Let go, Molly. Let go." He said. Never once breaking eye contact, both people thrust faster and harder. Molly took away one hand from the headboard and rubbed herself as hard as she could.

It wasn't long when the pleasure overcame Molly in multiple tidal waves, racking her entire body in spasms as her walls convulsed around Sherlock as she screamed his name in a wanton cry.

Almost directly after Sherlock followed soon after his member spasming as it shot out it's heavy load.

Sherlock caught Molly with heavy arms as she fell onto him, her damp hair a curtain, cutting them away from the world. She moved over to lay down next, but facing him, his arms still around her small body. He proceeded to get himself out of her, when Molly's hand in his chest stopped him.

"No don't. Stay in me. You were gone to long." Molly sighed, resting her head contently on his muscled chest.

"I'm sorry Molly." He sighed quietly, pulling her chin up so that he could look into her eyes.

"Don't be- you had to. I just missed you, so much. But you are back- that's all that matters. Just…"

"Yes?" he asked when she didn't continue. Molly sighed looking down, before meeting his eyes again.

"Don't leave."

"I've already promised you Molly, twice."

"Please. Once more- humour me." Sherlock wrapped his hands around Molly, pulling her closer into his chest. He ran a hand softly through Molly's soft locks and sighed softly. This woman meant more to him than he ever thought possible.

"I promise."

**So that's the end of my first smut fic. Thanks Grace for editing.**

**Review? The text box wants attention **

**-Ash **


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